It's Not Paranoia If You're Right
by Scribomaniac
Summary: Modern AU based on the prompt: If you can read my mind, cough. Flint meets Silver on a train ride home after work and soon begins to have his suspicions.


As James Flint's ass touched the cushioned train seat, he felt his soul escape his body in the form of a loud sigh. He'd had a tough day at work, with lots of whiny, privileged kids barging in on his office hours to demand a better score on their mid-term exams. They'd bitch and bitch and he'd explain and explain–honestly, by the end of his office hours Flint was sure he could give his ' _I'm sorry you're disappointed, but …_ ' speech in his sleep. So after he finished his office hours, had a meeting with the head of the English department, and sent out a few last minute emails, he hauled ass to the train station.

Cracking his neck to the side, Flint pulled out his phone to set an alarm so he wouldn't accidentally sleep through his stop. Rolling his shoulders back to rid them of all the tension that had built up in his muscles throughout the day, Flint slumped down in his seat and closed his eyes. He hoped he'd be able to sleep peacefully until his alarm when off, but when he felt someone bump into his shoulder before sitting down in the seat across from him. Cursing himself, Flint should have known finding an empty four-seater on the train during rush hour was too good to be true.

The man–Flint assumed it was a man, anyway, based on the smell of cologne–hummed, almost as if he was agreeing with Flint. Eyes flickering open, Flint looked at the man across from him. He had long, curly black hair that reached down to his collar bone, more scruff on his face than himself, blue eyes that gazed right back into Flint's green, and a prosthetic limb where his left leg normally would have been. That caught his gaze–though the man's eyes were a close contender, they were that piercing–and Flint had to hold back a wince at the sight of it. It looked relatively new, if the inflamed skin above the metal limb was anything to go by. The man stretched the limb out, towards Flint's direction, almost as if he were challenging Flint to ask him about it. Glancing back up at the man's eyes, and catching the dangerous glint in them, he decided that would be a terrible idea. The man snorted, smirked in an all too knowing way, and retracted his leg.

Frowning, Flint's brows furrowed as he took a closer look at this stranger. He'd seen him before, on the college campus. Flint couldn't be sure, but he thought the man was a Teacher's Aid in the Psychology department. He'd seen him on campus, once or twice … a week. Flint would be lying to himself if he said he didn't stop what he was doing whenever the man passed by if only to watch him walk away. If he was being brutally honest with himself, he'd also admit that it was mostly the man's ass he was watching. The way the man filled out his jeans would make any model green with envy. Flint hadn't noticed, but his gaze had drifted away from the man's face and towards his groin, and his tongue reached out and licked his now parched lips. He only realized his slip when the man shifted in his seat and raised a hand to cover his mouth. A deep burgundy blush inflamed his tan cheeks and reached all the way down his neck and past his shirt collar, but even with that sign of embarrassment, Flint could still see the smile the man was trying to hide behind his hand.

The man pulled his hand away from his mouth, no longer bothering to hide his smile. It was a shit eating smile, too, Flint decided. No sooner had he thought that did the man's smile widen even more so. "You work at the University, right?" The man asked, leaning forward to brace his forearms against his legs. Flint nodded, just once. "Thought so," the man reached out a hand. "John Silver–Psychology department."

Taking Silver's hand into his own, Flint's eyes flickered down at their joined appendages and took notice of how warm Silver's hand felt in his own, "James Flint–English."

"Ah," Silver nodded and retracted his hand to cross his arms over his chest. "So you're one of those brooding sort. You know," Silver's voice had taken on a silky tone, and for some reason Flint just knew he wouldn't like where this was going, "I always think of chickens when I think of the word brooding. My friend had chickens growing up, actually, and every now and then one of them would brood and peck the living hell out of you if you even looked at them funny while in that state. Poor things–all they wanted was to be mothers." Flint's eyebrows twitched. He didn't know why Silver had decided to tell him about brooding chickens, nor did he particularly like it.

"There was one in particular–you remind me a little bit of it–who was in an aggressively broody mood when I approached it and it looked at me, well, like you are right now, funnily enough–" Flint grunted, not amused–"and attacked me as if it were possessed by the devil himself. It's the reason I lost my leg." Silver closed his eyes and nodded several times, tapping his prosthetic against the floor of the train for emphasis.

Flint rolled his eyes, "Bull shit."

"Well, I may have cut out a few parts, but I swear to you, the chicken was a key factor."

The train lurched and the conductor spoke over the intercom, informing the train's passengers of all their intended stops before it departed from the station. Flint sighed and checked his watch. They were three minutes late and they hadn't even left the station yet.

"Got a hot date tonight?" Silver asked abruptly, shifting away from Flint.

Flint's gaze flickered between him and his watch, "Not really." He was planning on meeting up with Gates for a drink at the bar down the street from his house, but really he just wanted to be as far away from the University as possible after a day like today. The quicker the better, too.

"Hard day," Silver nodded understandingly, even thought Flint hadn't mentioned anything. He wondered if his face was telling Silver all his day's woes or if somehow Silver's history with Psychology magically made him able to read people he'd just met like a children's book. "It was like that in the Psych department today, too. One girl even tried to seduce me for a better test score. She'd bought a ring and got down on one knee and everything! Said she'd be mine forever if I'd just raise her grade from a C+ to a B-."

"Bull shit," Flint said again, but couldn't help the snort of laughter that escaped him this time at the image.

Silver hummed, smiling faintly with his eyes aimed up towards the ceiling of the train. "I would have done it, too, but the ring didn't fit. I took it as a sign from the heavens that we weren't meant to be and let her down as gently as I could."

Flint smirked. It was small and dry, but Silver seemed to preen at its presence. Even thought he knew it was a lie–because, come on–Flint could easily picture that sort of thing happening to this man across from him. Silver looked like the sort of man who was used to strange and unusual things happening to him, especially in the work place. He also seemed like the type of man who would play along with a desperate, fake engagement if only to see how far the other person would take it. Flint wondered about the surely fictitious girl and what sort of ring she proposed with, and then what sort of ring Silver would actually accept. Eyes glancing down to his fingers, Flint saw they were bare of any jewelry, but his eyes caught sight of a few chains around his neck. What was hanging on those necklaces, though, he couldn't tell as they fell below his shirt.

Silver leaned forward, acting as if Flint had asked him to, and pulled on the necklaces. There were three of them, though he could hardly pay much attention to them now that Silver was so close. So close, in fact, Flint could feel Silver's warm breath against his face which made his stomach twist and coil with half anxiety, half excitement.. "I'm not the biggest fan of rings," he said, and Flint's brows rose up into his hair line. Silver's eyes flickered to his, a playful glint shining in them, "Unless it's coming from the right person, of course," Flint felt his cheeks burn, and he knew his face now matched his hair.

The conductor opened the door to their train car and called for all tickets, forcing the two men to break apart to find their form of payment. As Flint waited for his ticket to be punched, he found himself thinking–absurdly of a brooding chicken, with its feathers all ruffled and a mean look on its small face. Silver chuckled quietly across from him while handing the conductor his ticket and something in Flint's mind spiked with alarm. His jaw slackened as he thought about his entire conversation with Silver. How the man had seemed to keep saying what Flint himself was thing, how he responded to thoughts he hadn't actually voiced.

Flint had to tell himself that he was being paranoid. Silver was a Psychologist. He could read people really well. That didn't mean he knew what Flint was thinking. No one could do that. It wasn't possible, and yet … and yet, Silver kept giving him sly glances out of the corner of his eyes as he put his ticket away. Flint knew he was being silly at best, majorly paranoid at worst, but he had to know. He had to put his mind at rest. So without looking away from Silver, he thought the words, _if you can read my mind then cough_.

For a moment nothing happened. Silver merely kept smiling at him and Flint was cursing himself as a fool for even thinking someone could read his mind. But then, slowly and purposefully, Silver brought his hand up to cover his mouth, and coughed. Flint's jaw dropped to the ground for a full minute before he began to laugh.

"You little shit."

 **A/N: I saw this prompt ages ago and have wanted to write it since. It went on a bit longer than I originally thought, but oh well. Please leave a review and let me know what you thought of it!**


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